Chemotherapy
by Kilrez
Summary: House pretended to be shocked. 'It seems you've never heard of doctor patient confidentiality.' 'No never,' replied Wilson dryly. 'But I'm suprised you have.'
1. Diagnosis

**Chemotherapy- Chapter One**

This is me ducking for cover. Yes, I know it has just about been years. I have excuses. Many, many excuses. Um... oh stuff it. Just read it. (Beta-ed by Zabrak Prophet)**  
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'What's that?' 

The words broke House's reverie, and he lowered the x-ray he'd been holding up to look at Wilson. 'Never heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?'

'Yes, but I'm surprised you have.'

House shrugged. 'I came across it when you weren't the first one to tell me about Chase senior's lung cancer.'

'Which brings me neatly around to what I was actually asking about when I first entered the office.' Wilson let the door swing shut behind him as he took another step into the fishbowl, coming over to sit down at one of the chairs before House's desk. House raised an eyebrow in a facial question mark.

'Turn your arm over,' Wilson requested, indicating where it was he wished to see: an area on the underside of House's forearm that had been exposed with the rolled-up sleeves as he held the x-ray up to the light. Expression blank, House complied, revealing in closer view exactly the same thing that Wilson had seen from the doorway. The lump was small and under the skin, but that told Wilson nothing without a physical examination.

'Come down to the clinic and I'll take a quick look at it, check if it's anything or not.'

'It's a lump,' pointed out House dryly. 'Does that not count as 'anything'?'

Wilson gave him a look, the one where he was patiently putting up with House's wisecracks until House did what was asked of him. House sighed, his forearm still exposed. 'There's no point, since the head of oncology is right here.'

Wilson shrugged. 'I _can_ do it here if you want. We come around to the confidentiality question again though. Do you really want to panic your three' (he indicated the currently empty conference room with a head movement) 'with the thought that you have cancer?'

'It's probably nothing, but if it is something, then they'll know soon enough anyway.'

Wilson nodded, accepting this answer. Permission now given to touch House, he gripped the arm gently in his right hand and used his left to manipulate the lump, feeling its characteristics. House didn't watch his arm; he watched Wilson's face because that was far more telling. He'd thought his stomach would drop the day he saw the thing he did there, but he guessed he was a little numb.

'You'll want to do a biopsy now I suppose?' he asked dryly, before the oncologist had even finished. Eyes a little hollow, not looking at House, Wilson nodded. House wondered if all the cancer patients got these sort of tells, or whether he was just better at reading them.

**oo00OO00oo**

'Well, it's malignant, but not a bad one,' Wilson said this in an almost sigh, a folder of results in his hand as he entered the office.

'Phew. I would have hated to go through a painful biopsy for no reason.' House waggled his eyebrows, dropping his pen on the desk. 'Now comes the bit where you tell me my odds,' he reminded Wilson. Wilson gave him a bemused look.

'Like a said, not a bad one, and it probably hasn't metastasised yet, but look out for any unusual stool, difficulty in breathing, oddness of senses-'

'Blah blah blah. I know all this. Odds, wünderkind.'

'Pretty good,' replied Wilson with a crooked smile. He could only think in amusement that he was the one meant to be comforting House. 'It's about a 95 survival rate, but this hospital's figures are a bit better than that still, on account of all our wonderful surgeons that you so despise.'

'Well, they are morons.'

'If I were you, I'd keep that opinion to yourself, at least until you're in the clear.'

House nodded thoughtfully. 'I can see your reasoning.'

Wilson felt that crooked smile take his face again, then twisted in his chair to see why House's eyes had shifted out to the corridor. 'Is it actually possible for her to have found out this fast?' House asked in weary resignation that covered humour.

'Look at her walk,' Wilson pointed out, 'she's not sympathetic, she's angry.'

With that, Cuddy stormed into the office, so House put on his innocent face and Wilson put on his blank face to meet her.

'House, you don't even have a patient right now! Why have the expenses for a biopsy been charged to the hospital's insurance?'

House's mouth twisted slightly, and he flicked his eyes towards Wilson, who met his look for a moment.

'What?' growled Cuddy. In response, he merely held up his arm, showing the bandaid affixed to it. For a moment, her expression went blank too, and it was the kind of blank that House recognised from when Cuddy didn't know which emotion to pick. She seemed to be wavering between scornful disbelief and shock.

'If indeed that's from a biopsy, would you care to tell me why you biopsied your arm?'

House shook his head ruefully. 'Sorry, can't. Confidentiality and all, you know how it is.'

Cuddy's blank look was now along the lines of: _I can't believe how much of an idiot you are._ House shrugged, non-seriously.

'Can you excuse us? I'm actually having a consult with my doctor here.' He asked politely, without a trace of sarcasm, and watched Cuddy's face morph into an expression like she'd been punched in the gut, only more concealed.

'I take it he doesn't mean in your capacity as his GP,' she asked Wilson quietly. He shook his head, infinitesimally. House's sharp eyes watched the exchange, then went back to Cuddy, flatly demanding that she leave now if there was nothing else. She nodded, almost to herself, and left.

**oo00OO00oo**

'I strongly recommend you start treatment right away,' Wilson commented, scooping a spoonful of rice crispies into his mouth. House drummed his fingers on the low wall of the balcony, his forearms concealed within blazer sleeves.

'Is my life worth more than the life of the guy on the whiteboard in there?'

Wilson had nothing to say to that, because '_it is to me' _wasn't what House wanted to hear, and _'you took the patient in the first place to put off treatment,' _wasn't particularly helpful.

'As soon as my patient is either diagnosed, or had the sheets pulled up over his face, I'll start chemo.'

'You've already said that,' Wilson pointed out, but changed the subject rather than engaging further. 'Have you told your team yet?'

'No. I'm thinking of the most dramatic way to do it.'

Wilson shot him a bemused look, before taking another mouthful. They stood in silence, staring out into the space in front of them, each on their separate sides of the balcony.

**oo00OO00oo**

In the end, House went for subtle and understated, same as he had with Cuddy. He paged the ducklings in for a meeting in his office, since he'd just previously had yet another brilliant flash of insight, and now knew his patient would be cured soon, ergo it would soon be time to start treatment. Wilson and he were talking as they tramped in.

'Thank you, doctor,' he told Wilson sincerely, batting his eyelashes slightly. Wilson looked at him weirdly. House winked and passed him a ten dollar note. Understanding broke across the oncologist's face, and he just shook his head slightly. The team watched this display, oblivious until Cameron said: 'didn't you two have a bet that…'

Chase was faster. 'You're dying?' he asked incredulously.

'Maybe not the best tone of voice to say that in, but the words are right.'

'No they aren't,' sighed Wilson, handing the ten dollar note back.

'Am too. We all are. Starts the moment we're born.'

The ducklings all relaxed slightly, Foreman rolling his eyes at House's dramatics.

'I never told you you were dying either,' Wilson pointed out dryly.

'The lips say no, the little crinkle of the nose says yes.' The weird look came back on Wilson's face.

'Please don't mention the fact that you're noticing my nose crinkles now,' the oncologist said with mild disturbance. House winked.

'House, what are you talking about,' asked Foreman, blunt and to the point.

'What? Oh- cancer. Isn't it obvious?'

'Our patient has haemocritic vasculitis…' started Cameron, confused again.

'Well then perhaps I'm not talking about our patient,' House suggested with mock surprise. There was a long pause, that really wasn't silent because thoughts can be so loud sometimes.

'Wilson…' Cameron finally appealed. Wilson looked to House, because this was back to doctor-patient confidentiality again. House rolled his eyes. 'You three just destroy subtly. I have cancer. Now the patient is diagnosed, I'll be getting it treated. Kapiche?'

Another ten month pregnant pause, although this one was because there was nothing you can say to some things. 'What sort?'… unless you're Chase.

'The mostly harmless sort,' cut in Wilson. 'House, I need to talk to you.' He stood abruptly, leaving no room for argument as he exited the room. Rasing his eyebrows in an amused smirk, House stood and followed. The ducklings watched him go, whilst the pause gave birth.

**tbc...**  



	2. Treatment

**Chemotherapy- Chapter Two  
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It doesn't take much to get me to update. Just a few, _really brilliant _reviews. From what have to be clearly the best reviewers in the world. Y'all can thank **Elix90**, **quiddie**, **Batman'sBeauty18**, **Jen**, **Ataea**, **Anon **and **TheWatcherandReader** for this here chappie. Getting inspired enough to actually go and write another story on the other hand... well... that would take effort. From me. It's just not there. So savour this one. (end egotistical posturing note. Start story)  
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House's hair fell out with alarming ease. Well, he found it alarming. Wilson just shook his head, and with an underlying streamer of sadness, told him it was normal. House frowned at the underlying streamer, but let it lie under, because he was not just another cancer patient, and this was only a little thing really.

A little thing, and a big excuse to fob off clinic hours. Cuddy was backing off him a little; perhaps even avoiding him from time to time so she wouldn't be forced to do her job and force him to do his. He was subtly shocked by the indication of real human sympathy from her.

Cameron, on the other hand… Cameron was just plain painful to deal with. About two weeks into the first round of chemo, he took to wearing a cap that said 'Just fine, before you ask,' on the front. It was far more polite than many a version he could have picked, but those all would have been banned by Cuddy way too quickly, even with her real human sympathy.

The cap managed to put some sort of a lid on it, although she could still be caught giving those annoying glances, and doing that little bit extra for him. What really annoyed him was when he started to feel worthy of those glances, and worthy of Cuddy's slack.

Then came a day when he couldn't go into work at all.

Not long later, came a whole week.

After that, Wilson forcibly booked him into the hospital, because he was worried House would die at home alone and no one would notice. House pointed out that if no one noticed he was dead, then no one particularly cared. Wilson replied that he was being irrational, and went back to studying his chart.

**oo00OO00oo**

'I hate chemo.'

'I've yet to meet a patient that likes it.'

'Oh, so I'm a patient now?'

Wilson sighed and didn't answer. House's usual heckling was frequently starting to border on the genuinely pissy. Wilson couldn't honestly blame him, but it wasn't worth getting into another pointless argument.

'How's the nausea?' he asked instead.

'Great. They fed me my breakfast through a tube. How do you think it is?' That wasn't to say House was going to give up his right to an argument easily.

'I'll try a different anti-emetic,' Wilson assured him. House let his head flop back on the pillow, rolling his eyes up. He didn't strictly need to be confined to bed, but after the time he'd passed out on the roof, Cuddy had made it a policy. As a result, all his meagre energy reserves were now spent chafing at his restrictions.

'It's only one more week, House,' Wilson mentioned, as he placed the chart down and pulled up a stool. That was the official symbol that he was now in friend mode, rather than 'treating doctor.'

House rolled his head sideways to fix Wilson with a sarcastic stare. The lack of eyebrows robbed it of much of its intensity. 'And then they'll slice me open like a drunk in a bar-fight.'

'We usually refer to it as surgery,' replied Wilson dryly. 'Also- maybe not such a good idea to be rude about surgeons right now.'

'On the contrary- they'd be suspicious if I stopped being rude now. Might think I was up to something.'

'Your logic is flawless as always.'

'Must be the vomiting five times a day. Really focuses the mind.'

'You're responding excellently to the chemo. The vomiting has probably saved your life.'

'Don't speak too soon. Thought you'd already learnt the lesson about that pesky hope stuff.'

Wilson shook his head. 'You're impossible when you're like this.'

'I'm impossible normally.'

'More so now. I'll be back later.'

'It will brighten up my afternoon,' House told him solemnly.

'Yeah, mine too,' muttered Wilson under his breath as he stood. House caught the inflection and smiled evilly. Wilson just rolled his eyes and stalked out. Secretly he was just glad House still had enough life in him to joke. The old cripple's Vicodin-traumatised liver had taken chemotherapy badly. Whilst the cancer was shrinking, the rest of House's body was border-line dangerously toxic. They were playing a risky game balancing the two, but House had chosen the stronger course of drugs, and would not be swayed. In the end, Wilson had to respect his wishes.

**oo00OO00oo**

House lay motionless on the hospital bed, drugged to the eyeballs, and asleep. He made a beautiful picture in a crumpled hospital gown, chest slowly rising and falling. His long limbs rested leadenly under the bed covers, graceful even in stillness.

Wilson tore his gaze away and went back to flicking through the surgery notes. He'd read them a thousand times before, it seemed, but given that he compulsively looked up to check on House every half minute, it was a lost cause trying to get any important reading done.

House's three fellows had been and gone, to reappear at frequent intervals, as had Cuddy. It seemed the compulsion was one shared among them.

Thinking about it, Wilson realised it was probably understandable. House had died on the table twice due to anaesthetic complications. He was fine now. Nevertheless, it was a terrifyingly abrupt reminder, as if the long months of chemotherapy had not been enough. House was mortal, like the rest of them. He was fallible. He could die.

Wilson glanced at House again. The condensation on the inside of the oxygen mask over his face shrank and grew in regular rhythm. Sighing, the oncologist put the surgery notes on the bedside table and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair.

'You got those memorised yet?' the rough, low voice was almost inaudible, and it made Wilson blink in surprise.

'You should be sleeping,' was all he could think of to say.

'How did surgery go?' asked House, rather than reply to that. He didn't open his eyes or otherwise move, falling completely still between sentences. Wilson resolved never to underestimate House's ability to play possum.

'It was a success,' Wilson informed him seriously. 'You'll be fine.'

A slight smile curved House's pale lips beneath the oxygen mask. Wilson found there was one mirrored on his own face.

The room fell once more to the whoosh and bleep of countless machines, and Wilson settled back. House dozed.

The End


End file.
